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The Borderline.


Not quite infatuated.

No where near lovers.

Best “friends,” there is potential.

A metaphorical bow that could either remain decor or a ribbon cutting ceremony.

Either way, it is not what you think.

We soak up each other’s attention much more than any others of the opposite sex, which at times could be distracting.

Intoxicated heart pours, universal signals, the first opposite gender on the list to share current events of that day.

He puts me in my place.

He reminds me how my outspoken words can be sharply perceived.

He wants me to be my best, for myself.

Feels like a typical process of getting to know someone without the annoyance of purposely playing hard to get.

Without the exaggerated “try hard” compliments. Actually, he teases me for times of “fishing” for one.

Without the careful selection of wording to draw us closer. The wit comes naturally.

And he knows I love that shit, unfortunately.

Forming more of a coalition as opposed to a union.

....which makes this arrangement so pure and enjoyable.

If we co-wrote a book, it would be titled “The Art of Emotionally Dating Without the Pressure of Actually Dating.”

Even though our friendship is still a few months fresh, we could agree our bond would never be “vanilla.”

We acknowledge harmony in most of our ideologies, but one of my favorites is that our best love match would emulate that of each other.

....but of course, without actually being each other.

I know, we are weird.

A chemistry that would only be fitting for an October 31st date.

Each other’s attention is not craved, because we have not been without it since meeting.

We don’t always deliver our diction in the same manner, but still undeniably fluent.

Fluent in each other’s

...Love language.


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